


The fear of falling

by kimchispaghetti (soondubu)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-15 00:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soondubu/pseuds/kimchispaghetti
Summary: All the potential in the world could never help Jongin graduate from the Academy and become the Ranger he dreams of being. But maybe Kyungsoo can.





	The fear of falling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for 3daysofkaisoo on LJ.

It wasn’t altogether clear why Assault Specialist Do Kyungsoo needed to be present for _this_ particular session. He’d done his time with these recruits six weeks ago, teaching them the basics. Now it was up to them to fly on their own. He had nothing to do with the Kwoon Combat Room except a vague hope that something of what he’d taught had stuck. But when Kim Joonmyun asked you to do something, you did it, regardless of whether you wanted to or not. Even Pentecost wasn’t immune to his power of persuasion—and that was why he made such a fantastic Psych Analyst.

“So ‘all will become clear,’ right?” Kyungsoo murmured, crossing his arms. Joonmyun laughed.

“When have I ever asked you to waste your time on something? Besides, these are your kids, too.”

“They’re not _my kids_ anymore.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

They fell quiet as Fightmaster Zhang entered the room, leading a small group of recruits. Kyungsoo picked out one in particular right away, and threw a thick-browed look of confusion to Joonmyun. Joonmyun simply smiled to himself. As Zhang took his place at the front of the room, Kyungsoo risked a moment to hiss, “You need to get this out of your head _now_ , Kim.”

“Cadets, please pay no mind to our guests today. They are here only to observe.” Zhang directed his warm smile at his students, but Kyungsoo shifted his weight uneasily. “Now, as you know, we are nearing the end of our semester together. Many of you have learned well. A few of you have excelled.” He paused, wetting his lips. Kyungsoo’s eyes went straight to that particular recruit, whose gaze never faltered from the fightmaster. “One of you may not make it to next semester.”

A disquiet fell on the room. It seemed everyone knew who that One was, though all were too polite to look at him. Kim Jongin held his head high in spite of the thoughts of stares. Joonmyun nudged Kyungsoo in the ribs. Kyungsoo stepped on his foot.

“For now,” Zhang continued after the hush had settled, “let’s continue our training. Colton. Greenbaum. Please step forward into the ring.”

 

 

Some partners were chosen to pair recruits up in ways they might not have guessed on their own. He also clearly chose pairs he knew would not work. One recruit only barely deflected the careless downstroke of her partner's _bō_ that would have otherwise dislocated her knee. Ultimately, though, it all went mostly as Kyungsoo remembered from his training days. Zhang was a somewhat better instructor than his own had been, but Kyungsoo had persevered—just the same as Kim Jongin, who was held behind while the others left.

“Specialist Do,” Zhang said, once the room was cleared of all but the four of them. “You remember Cadet Kim, yes?”

“Vividly.” It surprised Kyungsoo to hear his voice break, as if the word was loath to be said at all. How could he forget Kim Jongin, though? He’d breezed through lessons, and was the most promising recruit the Academy had seen in awhile. He knew how to work, but often not how to stop long enough to rest. Yet that was only part of his problem, and Kyungsoo had a good feeling he knew what was about to come next.

“He reminds me a lot of you. What I was told of you, anyway.” Zhang’s dimpled smile didn’t fool Kyungsoo for a moment. He turned to look at Joonmyun, who continued to play at obliviousness.

With a small, resigned sigh, Kyungsoo said, “Enough. Let me go change.”

 

 

It disappointed Kyungsoo to learn Jongin was heading down the same path he had. Mostly it irritated him to be pulled away from his scarce alone time for this. Kyungsoo taught battle tactics, not Drift basics. It was Joonmyun’s responsibility to break through to recruits, to discover their fears and ease their apprehensions about the Drift. Besides, Kyungsoo had been just as difficult to match, but they’d managed in the end. If Jongin was anything like him, they would just have to rotate him through some of the other groups. There was at least one partner for him in the barracks somewhere. Kyungsoo’s was already long gone.

When Kyungsoo re-entered the combat room, sweats tightened above his ankles, Jongin was ready with his _bō_. Joonmyun handed him a _bō_ of his own, with that same knowing smile. It was hard not to take an easy shot at him just to get rid of it.

“You remember all points?”

“Of course,” Kyungsoo mumbled. “Yes, Fightmaster,” he said a bit louder. Jongin had heard the first comment, though. The smirk curling the corner of his mouth said as much.

“Yes, Fightmaster,” Jongin echoed, and readied his stance. Not for the first time, Kyungsoo noticed the size difference between them. It didn’t matter in a Conn-Pod of course, but Jongin made a somewhat formidable sparring partner. Broad in all the right places, arms lean but firm, and probably with legs to match. Yet there was a distance in his eyes if one knew how to spot it. For Kyungsoo, there may as well have been spotlights on it. Yet even with all that light, he wasn’t quite sure where the disconnect laid.

While Kyungsoo sized him up, trying to find that one weak point to expose and prey upon, Jongin took the first shot. He raised his staff high, and Jongin’s came down on it with a sharp _crack_ only seconds later. They moved immediately, seamlessly into an upward strike and downward thrust to defend. For now, Jongin played aggressor, while Kyungsoo bided his time. It only proved to him that Jongin _was_ hiding something. He felt threatened whether he realized it or not.

Kyungsoo let Jongin have two more openings before he finally made his first strike. He feinted to the right, and Jongin began his upswing. Then Kyungsoo ducked left and swung his staff hard towards his torso, halting within an inch of him. Jongin stopped in one breath, eyes full of more surprise than betrayal locking on Kyungsoo. “Point,” Kyungsoo said, panting. Jongin nodded, and moved back to third position.

It carried on like that for longer than the other sessions. Zhang seemed content to watch and wait, while Joonmyun scribbled notes in the corner. Kyungsoo was glad the sounds of their staffs and his own heavy breathing muted the scratching of his pen. After an almost twenty-minute bout, they were at two points each. Finally, Zhang raised his voice to stop them.

“I believe it’s almost dinnertime,” he said. Kyungsoo gave a breathless laugh, leaning lightly on his _bō_ as he panted. Jongin wasn’t faring much better, though he hid it. If he was good at anything, it seemed to be hiding things. “Clean up. You’ve both done well today.”

Jongin turned with some effort, and gave a deep bow to Zhang. “Thank you, Fightmaster.” Then he turned again, and offered a bow to Kyungsoo. He didn’t wait for one in return before dismissing himself, headed for the showers.

Kyungsoo waited until he was well out of earshot—and until his breath had returned—before speaking. “Would one of you care to explain to me exactly what this has been about?”

 

# # #

After dinner, Kyungsoo followed Joonmyun to the Simulation Wing. They were silent as they walked, the only noise the sound of their footfalls on the linoleum. They each walked with purpose: Joonmyun’s all-knowing and Kyungsoo’s not daring to belie the uncertainty he carried in his chest. He already had an inkling of what was to come when Joonmyun had asked him to observe that day’s combat training. As soon as he’d seen Jongin, though, he’d known exactly what he was in for. There was no way he would stand for it.

They stopped before the second door on the left, and Kyungsoo let out a small sigh. Joonmyun glanced at him and finally the smile on his face faltered. He knew that Kyungsoo knew, and he could practically see the defensive wall Kyungsoo was erecting. They pressed on into Pons Training Room 4 anyway though, and Kyungsoo kept his second sigh held tight in his lungs until he shut the door behind him.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Joonmyun began.

“My answer is no.”

“I haven’t said what it is, yet.”

“You don’t have to. Cadet Kim is no longer my responsibility. I’ve done my part with him. Hell, he hardly even _needed_ me. He’s probably spent most of his life dreaming of this moment. He had half the text memorized by week _three_ , _hyung_.”

“He does need you,” Joonmyun said quietly. And for some reason it halted Kyungsoo’s rant at once. He shifted his weight just as he had in the combat room, and his arms crossed as if to muffle the panicked beat of his heart.

“I don’t want another partner,” Kyungsoo said, words strung as tight as the line of his mouth.

“I’m not asking you to pilot again, Kyungsoo.” Joonmyun knew better than to use what Kyungsoo called his “Therapist Voice” on him, yet it came out now all the same. For once, Kyungsoo could almost understand why it was such a necessary skill. “I’m asking you to help Cadet Kim graduate.” Kyungsoo scoffed. “You know he’s too good not to,” he added, taking a cautious step towards him. “Your notes on him said as much. ‘Brilliantly gifted.’ ‘Born-Ranger.’”

“So you must remember why he ended up referred to you in the first place, then? ‘Too guarded. Doesn’t relate to peers.’”

“Do you know who else had notes like that in his file, Kyungsoo?”

His nostrils flared as Kyungsoo hitched in a large breath. This was what he hated about the Therapist Voice. It was never condescending, even when it went for the jugular. “If he doesn’t play well with others, there’s nothing to be done with him. He’s made it through basic training, so he’s fit to become an officer. That’ll have to do.”

“Just one time,” Joonmyun urged, as if he hadn’t listened to a thing Kyungsoo said. He was good at that, too. “He refuses to Drift with any of his peers, and he keeps me out when we try.” A few more steps and Joonmyun was in front of him before Kyungsoo could flinch. He did anyway when Joonmyun placed hands on either side of his shoulders, knowing he’d run if given the chance. There wasn’t much Joonmyun didn’t know about him at this point. “He sees something in you, Kyungsoo. I suspected it when you first came up in one of our sessions. Today removed all doubt.”

Kyungsoo took a long, slow breath in. There was an earnestness to Joonmyun that spoke more to their tenuous friendship as colleagues than as former recruit and psychologist. It was that—not the Voice, not the warmth of those pleading hands, and certainly not any expectation of reciprocation—which Kyungsoo answered. “ _One_ session. He either lets me in, or he doesn’t.”

The smile that came back to Joonmyun’s face was more genuine than it had been all day. Perhaps it was because it contained none of the self-assurance he’d never been able to carry well. Realistically it was because it was all gratitude. Kyungsoo couldn’t quite return it, though. The weight of expectation and impending failure in his gut was much too heavy.

 

# # #

Kyungsoo was allowed to sleep on his decision. It was the first thing on his mind when he woke the next morning, which made it difficult to get out of bed. There was time to change his mind, but he knew better than pretend he could. Joonmyun had probably gone straight to Pentecost after speaking with him last night. Even if he hadn’t, once Joonmyun set his mind to something there was almost no hope of convincing him otherwise—at least when it came to Kyungsoo. That was always one of the only places they’d found common ground.

Kyungsoo didn’t see Jongin at breakfast. There was the chance he’d gone early, but somehow Kyungsoo doubted that. He hadn’t missed much anyway. Kyungsoo sort of wished that he’d also skipped day three of the oatmeal hell they’d been experiencing. Today, the kitchen had tried to make congee. He couldn’t wait for fresh supplies to arrive in a few days.

Kyungsoo made a stop in the Psych Department to look for Joonmyun before going to his classroom. He ran into Jongin instead. As Jongin tried to dash past him anyway, Kyungsoo reached a faster hand out to catch his forearm. “That’s assaulting an officer, cadet.”

“With all due respect, sir, I didn’t hit you.”

“Are you sure?” Jongin stopped pulling then, but he didn’t bring his gaze up to meet Kyungsoo’s. There was a tightness in him, muscles on edge and feet ready to dash as soon as Kyungsoo let go. He made sure to hold on tighter. “You weren’t at breakfast.”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“Speak up, cadet.”

“I wasn’t hungry, _sir_.”

“You need to eat, especially breakfast. Come on, the mess hall’s open for another fifteen minutes.”

They didn’t manage more than a few steps before Jongin said, “I know what Dr Kim’s thinking, sir. I appreciate the efforts, but with all due respect–”

“With all due respect, Kim, you'll never become a Ranger if you never learn to Drift.”

Jongin ceased fighting after that, with words or the shuffling of his feet. In general, Kyungsoo preferred the quiet, but that was only part of the reason he’d favored Jongin a little. Beyond his remarkable knowledge of all things Jaeger-related, Jongin knew when (and, more importantly, when _not_ ) to open his mouth. This kind of quiet between them was uncomfortable though, and Kyungsoo felt the urge to fill it with talk. “Dr Kim knows what he’s doing, or he wouldn’t be chief assistant in his department. Dr Lightcap favored him a lot for a reason.” Kyungsoo bit his lip in thought. “He notices things others don’t, and he’s good at making connections between unrelated points. He knows how to work people, but he also knows how to help people work with each other.” He paused again when he finally felt Jongin looking at him, almost like he could already hear what Kyungsoo wasn’t saying. He couldn’t help being a little angry at, of all people, Joonmyun. He’d figured Kyungsoo out by the end of week one, and Kyungsoo had never managed to escape that knowing look since. “If you ever hope to graduate you have to have trust.”

 

 

After his lesson, Kyungsoo headed immediately to the Simulation Wing. Joonmyun was waiting outside Pons Training Room 4 again, a familiar smile on his face. “He’s inside already.”

“He’s skipping lessons?”

“Do you really think he needs them?” Kyungsoo chewed his lip in lieu of arguing, and Joonmyun flashed a smirk before opening the door for him.

The hum of the machinery hit first. Kyungsoo had almost forgotten what it sounded like. No, it was more that he’d forgotten what the anticipation felt like. His lessons never quite crossed over into practical exercises. The equipment was too expensive and too dangerous to let eager minds and fingers go anywhere near it. Besides, his prowess laid more in battle tactics than the inner workings of the Pons system. Still, he hovered anxiously in the doorway while Joonmyun swept forward to retrieve another Pons headset for him.

“Don’t wimp out on me now, Kyungsoo.” Joonmyun taunted him with the headset, while Jongin failed to suppress a small cough of laughter. “Like you said, either it’ll work or it won’t. Nothing to lose, and everything to gain.” Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, but finally stepped forward.

Jongin was already stretched out in the chair to the right. He wondered if he’d chosen the passive position on his own, or if Joonmyun had encouraged it. He wasn’t sure which idea he preferred. Joonmyun approached him as he hesitated again by the chair, and didn’t ask before fitting the headset over his head. Kyungsoo didn’t fight him. He had forgotten how uncomfortable the training helmets were though. It took a lot to bite back the suggestion that maybe that was half the problem. It was a joke he wasn’t sure would fly, but he also didn’t want to enable Jongin to quit before they’d started. He’d already shown more initiative than Kyungsoo had expected, and clearly that had Joonmyun giddy. So Kyungsoo took his place beside Jongin in silence, reclining and wriggling in place until he was as comfortable as he was going to get. It surprised him more than it should have when he and Jongin glanced over at each other at the same time.

“Kyungsoo, I know it’s been awhile for you”—Kyungsoo gave a soft noise of dissent—“so I’ll brief you both on the process before we begin. The main things to remember are clarity and empathy. You’re in a safe environment. I’m only here to supervise, so the only ones who will know what you’re seeing are the two of you. There may be things in your memories you are ashamed or afraid of, or otherwise reluctant to share. They may or may not surface during the Drift. The important thing is not to focus on them. We all have secrets, but as co-pilots you cannot afford such a luxury. You must trust each other not to judge and not to control. Let the memories come as they will and do not fear them or yourself. Or each other. If things get out of hand, there are no consequences as this is only a training room. You are not connected to anything but each other. But I will pull you out of the Drift immediately to avoid psychological complications.” He finally paused, only to add, “I don’t want to have to do that. Are there any questions?”

“No.”

“No, sir.”

“Then it’s time to relax. Breathe slowly, in counts of five. Try to synchronize your breaths without speaking. Let your mind and body float.”

Joonmyun continued speaking, his voice soft and gentle, as he turned to the control station for the system. He had an easy voice to get lost in when he was like this; Kyungsoo was grateful for that. It allowed him to almost miss the click of the switch that initiated the system. But that was impossible when, seconds later, that familiar feeling of falling tugged at every nerve in his body.

Kyungsoo had never enjoyed the Drift. It frightened him. The only thing that had ever made it manageable was his co-pilot. Something just clicked with Park Chanyeol, despite their differences. Opposites attracted perhaps, but with them it was only via Pons system. A fair bit of jealousy had come his way anyway, despite Chanyeol's good intentions. He'd wanted to separate work from his love life. It was still awkward though, to be chosen over Baekhyun. He and Chanyeol would never, _could_ never be like that. Chanyeol had all the bravado necessary to get him into the suit, but Kyungsoo had always been the dominant pilot for a reason. Chanyeol was a mess when he wasn’t piloting. Ultimately that’s what had gotten him discharged from the program. Baekhyun had gone with him without a word. Kyungsoo alone had stayed behind, vowing never to Drift again unless he had to. And he’d never really imagined that day would come.

Thoughts of Chanyeol came and went, Kyungsoo avoiding fixing on any of them. He’d had enough practice with that on his own. He could feel Jongin’s curiosity though, and gave him the gentlest nudge away from those memories. _Look, but don’t touch. Save those questions for later._ He tried to exude openness, tried to make himself more vulnerable so Jongin might not try to take these chances while he could. Yet it seemed they might have been safer going down Kyungsoo’s memories. When a particular one of Jongin’s flooded their connection, there was no stopping the chase.

He felt the pull as Jongin tried to avoid it, like a hard bank around a curve that came up unexpectedly when you were already speeding. Kyungsoo couldn’t stop it anymore than he could catch Jongin before he latched onto it despite himself. Everything came so fast.

 

 _A television showing a breaking news report. A woman sobbing in the background. The acrid smell of meat burnt to char. Jongin, younger and thinner, stands and turns away from the screen. He goes to the kitchen, turns off the burner. Dinner is ruined, but he isn’t hungry anyway. There are five places at the table but, almost ceremoniously, he puts away two of them. Then he goes back to the television. Now there’s a helicopter camera panning the city. Atticon’s devastation is sweeping. Cherno Alpha was not deployed early enough. The emergency system was good, but not perfect._ It will never be perfect. __

_Jongin takes a seat by the sobbing woman on the couch—his sister. He puts an arm around her and she buries her face in his shoulder. Empty consolation sits heavy on his chest. They don’t know anything yet; there have been survivors in worse wreckage than this. She wails for their mother, and something small and irreparable inside of Jongin cracks. He doesn’t bother telling himself their parents will show up in a hospital somewhere. He knows better than that._

 

Kyungsoo gasped for breath when they came out of the Drift. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles white and fingertips aching with the strain. It was a few moments more before he could remember how to let go. Then he looked to Jongin, not knowing what to expect. He was somehow unsurprised to find he wasn’t sobbing. There were tears leaking steadily from beneath hands that covered his face, but there was no sound to accompany them. Kyungsoo took a slower, shakier breath then, and turned to Joonmyun. Joonmyun nodded and made his way out of the room. Kyungsoo wouldn’t move until Jongin was ready. When he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the door clicking shut, Kyungsoo realized it might be awhile yet.

When silence settled on them this time it was more comfortable. There remained that undercurrent of tension, but it was no longer of things unsaid. That strong wall around Jongin was gone. Kyungsoo didn’t doubt it was because of how completely it the Drift had shattered it. He kept his movements careful and slow. The hand that knew how to grab Jongin in an instant now took its time in laying over his arm. Jongin flinched, and Kyungsoo couldn’t help the surge of guilt that swept through him when he felt it. “Jongin,” he said softly. Some of the familiar resurfaced. “I am truly sorry.” He hesitated, and when Jongin didn’t protest or fight back, he went on. “There is no one who has been through this academy who hasn’t had their life directly impacted by the attacks. That doesn’t lessen what happened to you, or your sister–”

“Sisters,” Jongin croaked.

“–To you, or your sisters,” Kyungsoo said. “But it’s why this place is _so_ important. It’s why we come here. It’s why _you_ came here. We’re tired of seeing such loss and unfairness. We’re working to stop it.”

“Why did you enroll?”

Kyungsoo’s fingers curled into Jongin’s arm. Chanyeol and Baekhyun had been enough to keep him here, but his reason for coming at all? “My older brother was an officer. He dealt with the public, helped guiding civilians to shelters and such.”

“Where was he?”

“Hong Kong.”

“Reckoner,” Jongin said. His voice was like a door swinging shut.

Kyungsoo gave a soft sound of affirmation. He couldn’t muster anything more than that yet. Jongin’s arm shifted beneath his grip, and Kyungsoo realized he must have been holding on too tightly. Yet instead of pulling away, Jongin slipped his hand into Kyungsoo’s. His grip was every bit as fierce as Kyungsoo's had been.

“My parents were so upset when I told them I’d enlisted,” Kyungsoo said. His voice was thicker than he’d realized, and the shame of it spread to his ears and cheeks at once.

“Mine would have been, too.” If Jongin noticed that threat of tears, he didn’t say so. He did give Kyungsoo’s hand a small squeeze, though. After a few beats, Jongin said, “Maybe it’s stupid, but… I’m actually sort of relieved it was a memory like that that came up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dr Kim goes on all the time about how people don’t like to drift because they’re afraid of, you know… _other_ memories coming up.”

Kyungsoo cracked a small smile and gave a weak laugh. “What, was your first time particularly embarrassing or something?”

“I guess?” Jongin actually laughed then, tiny and soft but _real_. His voice dropped when he spoke again, matching the focus of his gaze on their hands. The tone in it said enough without words that Kyungsoo was almost afraid to listen. “Right now it’s more my imagination than anything.”

Kyungsoo had never enjoyed the Drift. He didn’t like the feeling of weightlessness, and hated the vivid, visceral push and pull of memories. It was frightening in a way physical connections never could be, no matter how often one shied from them. Jongin’s cryptic admission opened the door to a lot of questions Kyungsoo wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to. Jongin’s hand wrapped tightly around his answered them anyway.

For the first time in a long time, Kyungsoo wasn’t quite so afraid of the fall.


End file.
